Excerpt from: A Broad Abroad in Thailand: An Expat's Misadventures in The Land of Smiles:
The Ubiquitous Eastern Toilet:
When nature called, I listened. I’d been having some bladder problems and as many women in their middle-earlies know, we don’t turn a deaf ear when Mother Nature bellows. Logic told me I should wait to use my hotel bathroom, but with thoughts of the tuk-tuk ride still vivid in my mind, I chose the store bathroom. Walking through Robinson's in Bangkok I spotted the universal unisex sign for “toilet” and peeked inside. I was overcome with the urge to turn and flee. I gagged. The odor was Kansas City Stock Yard meets Los Angeles County Landfill. I held my breath until I felt faint. I thought about trying to breathe through my mouth but decided it was better to smell than to taste.
There it sat, the inscrutable Eastern squat toilet, waiting for the next feeble foreigner. I swore I could hear voices calling for help, possibly ghosts of tourists who’d fallen in.
The inside was porcelain, trying hard to resemble a Western toilet, but that’s where the similarity ended. The hole was about two feet in circumference cut into the tile. Its depth I would leave to the ghosts. The hole was encircled by a porcelain ring with little foot indentations on either side. I later learned that the Eastern squat toilet is sometimes just a hole cut in a dirt floor, depending on whether you’re in a nice department store or a little shack on a country road.
The opening was dirty and disgusting, foul smelling, and slimy. When I graduate from my Toastmaster class I’ll be able to describe it more effectively.
Now, how was I going to use this thing? It just didn’t equate. I mean, why does it have to be so difficult for women? It’s a cakewalk for men, they have it way too easy.
In my years of wandering the globe, I’d learned an undeniable fact: the world is a man’s toilet. Well, for most men. They seem to be comfortable anywhere the urge to purge hits them—behind a car, on the golf course, in an alley—wherever. The disadvantage of indoor plumbing is that we females are forced to find a sit-down area for release.
However, all toilets are not created equal and herein lies the rub: the Eastern squat toilet is discriminatory against females.
For my lady friends who’ve never traveled to a foreign country that offers these contortion contraptions, let my story serve as a high-level travel alert.
I studied this enigma and tried to decide where the best point of entry might be. I walked up, faced it and forced myself not to look down. I stepped up to the beast and panicked. How is a woman supposed to squat on this thing? If you’re wearing slacks, they need to be pulled down along with your undies. To where do you pull them? If you just pull them down a little, you'll pee on them, so you have to pull them down just over your butt, squat, then, while still squatting, pull them down a little more and tuck them under your knees, hoping that they stay put. And what if you have on a full skirt or muumuu? You must pull the front of the skirt up and wad it under your chin. Then, you must take the back of the skirt, lift it up, wrap it around your waist and pray it stays there. While you’re trying to maneuver yourself into position to mount this abomination, you realize you can’t see what your feet are doing what with all the clothes piled up around your waist.
You scan the dark recesses of the room for toilet paper, which is noticeably absent--yet another example of the farang’s (anyone other than an Asian) wastefulness. Here, as in all Asian countries, water is the cleanser of choice and therefore, surrounds the hole.
Porcelain can be quite slippery when wet adding to the problem of of your balancing act. You must now do what you came to do. You’re hoping for an Olympic score of 10 on your mount as you make the leap and hit the target. The porcelain is wet, the floor is wet, and your butt is wet and there is no paper.
You start to pray. You’re squatting, wondering if you can keep your balance long enough to do find something to wipe with. Your back hurts, your thighs are screaming and your hamstrings are losing ground. You try to hang your purse from your teeth while you dig out your tiny piece of tissue; hopefully it's in the little side pocket where you last saw it. You’re searching very slowly, trying to keep from losing your footing. One wrong move, one slight error and you could do a pratfall onto the filthy, wet floor, or, the unthinkable, the hole.
You’re finished now but how do you dismount? You realize you must get up, and you must do it before the store closes.
There’s nothing to hang on to. Your arms are flailing about trying to keep your balance, your purse is between your teeth and your clothes are tucked into your wrinkles. You must now prepare for your Olympic 10 dismount by giving a giant heave. You fling yourself up and out of the crouched position and hope your feet hit a dry spot on the floor.
Recovering from the squatting position is the true test of your mettle and you’ll have no help from your atrophied thigh muscles. There is no chrome bar thoughtfully placed nearby to aid in pulling you to a standing position. Nope. Just you and Mother Nature.
After you’ve landed your dismount, don’t think you’re home free because you're not done yet. These babies don't flush. Next to this thingamabob is a small spigot with a hose attached, along with a pitcher and scoop to accessorize the ensemble. You must fill the scoop with water, pour it into the hole and hope gravity helps everything go down. It may not. The person before you may have been in a hurry, over-parked, had to catch a bus. Whatever! Now you must take care of his and yours, so the person coming in next doesn’t think you left that awful mess.
The Eastern squat toilet is, without a doubt, a great idea when it comes to the physiology of elimination. That is, if you’re twenty years old and practice yoga every day. I missed these criteria by about thirty years.
Suffice it to say I wouldn’t want to be caught with my knickers around my ankles when Alan Funt and his camera crew were hovering in the wings.
My husband had been standing outside the restroom waiting for me. He told me that he, and everyone, in the store knew I'd successfully landed my dismount when they heard me yell, “Thank you, Jayzus!”
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Reviewed by Ardie Davis
1/28/2007
To say she's "good with words" is putting it mildly!!! I've had similar experiences...but NEVER could I tell the tale with such raucous good humor! Write on!!
Reviewed by Francine Dowling
1/24/2007
I have the same problems every time here in Thailand, smelly dirty toilets. Sometimes I take my trousers off not to make them wet. The problems is then ...where to hang them.
WARNING -- Do not, I repeat, NOT read this story when you are consuming hot beverages. Your computer screen may suffer as a result of unintentional spewing.
:)
The Sister
Great story, Dodie. In the vein of potty humor try the story I posted a while ago.
http://www.authorsden.com/visit/viewarticle.asp?id=13508
Best regards,
Leland
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